A Slice Of Life, Death And Everything In-Between

A Dash Of Panic, A Flash Of Fear

A gentle tap against the bathroom door has the spiderling jumping, however, and his fingers scrape against his lip, causing what little scab that was forming to be picked away. Swallowing down a cry of pain, Peter grabs a washcloth from the hook to his right, pressing it against his now-bleeding lip just as Tony's voice floats through the door.

"You doing okay in there, bug?" There's a lift of concern in the billionaire's tone that wasn't there before and Peter curses internally, lifting the rag from his face.

"F-Fine, Tony, just-just had to blow my nose."

God, what a lame excuse, Parker, no wonder he can see right through you. Peter winces, dabbing once more at his lip, listening with bated-breath as his father-figure seems to shift on his feet outside the bathroom door.

"Okay, well," Tony finally says, the concern in his voice somehow doubled. Peter grimaces. "Just don't take too long, kiddo. I need help deciding on a movie--"

"Yeah, I-I'll be right there -- ah!" Letting out a sharp cry of pain as he rubs against his lip, the 15-year-old leans over the sink, trying in vain to pat his mouth dry.

"Peter? What was that?"

"Uh," Peter swallows, his hands shaking as both his eye and lip throb in unison, the bitter pain trailing down his cheeks and into his neck. "N-Nothing's wrong, just-just, um, bumped my head is all, it's not even bleeding that much--"

"That much? That's it, kid, I'm coming in."

The doorknob rattles behind Peter and the spiderling ducks his head just as Tony steps in, the man's warm palm reaching out to rest against Peter's shoulder. Turning away when Tony tries to meet his gaze, the teen knows that it's a pointless attempt to hide the inevitable when his mentor sucks in a gasp.

"You got yourself quite a shiner there, bubba." Tony says after a few seconds, the hand that was resting against Peter's shoulder reaching up to cup the spiderling's uninjured cheek instead. Tony gently turns Peter's face toward his own. "How'd this happen?"

"Got hit on patrol." Peter lies, tugging at the sleeve of his sweatshirt with his free hand, the other still holding on the bloody rag over the sink. "That's it."

"Hmm," Tony's brows furrow and Peter resists the urge to look away again. Instead, he hands over his washcloth when his dad gently grabs it, startling a bit when the genius reaches up and wipes at Peter's lip. "That's funny, bambi, cause your suit log says that you haven't been active in it since Wednesday night."

"I-I, uh --"

"Plus," Tony continues, gently turning Peter's face toward the left just a little, studying the teenager's bruised eye with a narrowed, concerned gaze. "These look fresh, Pete. Unless something's happened with your super-healing that I don't know about--"

Shoulders drooping, Peter finally admits defeat. "No, my super healing's fine. Just-- look, Tony, everything's fine, okay? Don't even worry about it."

"I'll start 'not worrying about it' when you start coming home without a busted up face, kiddo." Tony says, some heat leaking into his words and Peter glances away, guilt churning his stomach. "When you tell me the truth."

A gentle brush of his mentor's fingertips against his cheek has the boy looking back up, however, blinking away the sting of fast-approaching tears. Tony's eyes, when Peter finally forces himself to meet his father-figure's gaze again, are warm and soft, the hand that cups the boy's face so gentle and concerned that Peter feels his chest ache.

"I--" Peter tries to speak around the lump in his throat, swallowing. "I got punched, at-at school."

Tony's eyes go dark with rage. His hands, however, are as soothing as ever as he reaches upwards, patting now at Peter's black eye with another damp cloth. Peter leans into the touch with a sigh.